well documented. I know that during that period in my life we also documented my wife’s love of Kitty and how the driving force behind her walking out of Johns Hopkins alive after her first, grueling 42-day treatment was seeing Kitty and holding her in her arms at home. There was a day late in her stay when I strongly considered putting Kitty in her travel bag and sneaking her into the hospital. One day, when Jenn was freed from her IV and the pole that came with it, I nearly snuck her into the car in the lobby to run home and spend 15 minutes with Kitty.
Instead, on April 30, 2014, this happened at our home when Jenn returned:
What happened during Jenn’s cancer battle is very public but what was very private were the 155 nights that I quietly came home from the hospital alone to an empty condo, an empty bed and an empty life outside of going back and forth to Hopkins to keep my wife alive every morning. On those dark nights in November and December 2015 when I came home every night believing I was going to lose my wife to cancer as her condition deteriorated daily, Kitty was my best friend.
After vowing that I’d never have to clean a litter box or provide any care for Kitty before we adopted her, I was now her ONLY caregiver and friend. Every single night that Jenn wasn’t vomiting or violently ill, I went home and immediately allowed her to Skype with Kitty from the hospital before bedtime.
That provided massive healing to Jenn during her battle against death. It also allowed Kitty to stay connected with Jenn and her voice.
For me, the healing came when her furry, little face and grace was waiting at the condo door to give me love and provide comfort and warmth in an empty house while I was franticly trying to keep my wife alive and my sanity in check.
Kitty was my rock.
Kitty was the best part of the worst part of my life.
Affection and love was her calling card. She was the sweetest creature on earth.
Our friends loved her. Every visitor to our condo was greeted with her full affection and interest. She was the center of our universe. When we traveled in recent years, we literally asked ourselves with every flight or hotel booked whether it was worth it to be away from Kitty for another night.
Somehow, we foolishly thought she was eternal. She felt young and very vibrant to us. Those hugs. Those sweet Kitty kisses. Those affectionate head butts, and body swipes to our legs and purrs and conversations we had were eternal.
I remember Jackson Galaxy saying on TV: “If you talk to your cat, your cat will begin to talk back.” And boy did she ever! I have hundreds of videos of her being chatty and beautiful and playful that I’ll share sometime when I can bear the sight of watching them again.
We wanted to scale back from our faraway travel in the coming years just to be with her more during
